


Jump the Gun

by AsAMatterOfFic



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drunk John, Drunk Sherlock, First Kiss, Fluff, Loss, M/M, Oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9129991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsAMatterOfFic/pseuds/AsAMatterOfFic
Summary: Basically my version of the stag party scene. Enjoy :)





	

When he said it, he felt like ripping out his own throat. In that moment, Sherlock felt like a complete idiot, which is rare for him. He hadn't meant to say it, it was pure accident. But the damage was done and he could only sit back and calculate John’s reaction, finding no comfort in any of the solutions his mind offered. John was engaged to Mary, and this was a stag party. John’s stag party. And he crashed it with a sentence that was far from simple. 

 

After hitting several pubs, they returned to the flat and they were hammered. John was sitting in his chair across from Sherlock with his shoes off and “Madonna” stuck to his forehead. Sherlock couldn't help but smile at him. John was drunk, and giggly and he had a bloody Rizla paper stuck to his head. It was adorable. Sherlock was giggling, his own name on his head. He knew it too, he had figured it out by the second question, even though he had never played the Rizla game previously.

 

“Am I human?” Sherlock slurred.

 

“Sometimes.” John smirked.

 

“There can't be sometimes…” He trailed off.

 

“Yes, you're human.” John sat his glass down, nearly missing the table.

 

“Am I a man.” 

 

“Yes.” John replied, slumping in his seat.

 

“Am I tall?” 

 

“Not as tall as people think.” He shrugged. Ah, there it was. He knew it was him. He got sick of people telling him he was shorter than expected. Rather than winning, he'd go on and ask a few more. John’s answers interested him.

 

“Hmm. Nice?” 

 

“Ish.” He giggled. 

 

“Clever?” Sherlock asked, sitting up a little.

 

“I'd say so.” John smiled, and blushed a little. Sherlock noted that. Even when plastered he looked for things like that. 

 

“You would?” Sherlock chuckled. John giggled, taking another drink.

 

“Mm, am I important?” 

 

John nearly said ‘to me’. But it would give the game away. And he couldn't say that regardless. 

 

“To s-some people.” He stuttered. 

 

“Do “people” like me?” He asked, sluggishly air-quoting. 

 

“No, you er, rub them the wrong way.” John laughed. 

 

Sherlock sat up and laughed, 

 

“Am I the current King of England?” He blundered. 

 

“Are you…? You know we don't have a king?” he laughed.

 

“Don't we?” He chuckled.

 

“No.”

 

Sherlock sat back in his chair. John leaned forward, a little too quickly, and slid out of his chair. He laid his hand on Sherlock's knee and steadied himself. They looked at his hand after a few seconds. Sherlock was surprised by the touch. John quickly removed his hand, and shrugged.

 

“I don't mind.” He said. 

 

“Oh?” Sherlock grinned. John coughed.

 

“So, am I a woman?” John asked, gesturing to his forehead. 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Am I...a pretty lady?” John asked. 

 

“Er, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences and role models.” He spouted. John propped his head on his fist. 

 

“Sherlock, am I pretty?”

 

“You, John Watson, are the most beautiful creature I have ever encountered.”  
Johns hand dropped. And this was it, the exact moment Sherlock wanted to strangle himself. The rush of adrenaline and fear zapped him into sobriety. His eyes became alert, and he searched John's face for a reaction. John was at a great loss of words. They sat there a few seconds studying each other. John broke the silence, and Sherlocks calculations.

 

“You think I'm beautiful?” He said, much less drunk than before. 

 

“Well er, yes.” Sherlock said slowly. Not even a trip to his mind palace could save him.

 

John slumped forward and rested both hands on Sherlock’s knees this time. Sherlock's normally high-functioning mind began to blur. He sat up and leaned forwards, his head a few seconds behind his actions. John leaned in and pressed his lips gently against Sherlock’s. It lasted a hell of a long time for John, but only a fraction of a second for Sherlock. Sherlock pulled back, which went against nearly every instinct he had.

 

“Mary.” Sherlock whispered. He sat back and picked up his drink, John looked down.  
“He is engaged, you blithering idiot. How could you.” Sherlock thought. 

 

“You love her, don't you?” Sherlock asked. 

 

“I. I fell for her after you, after you died. But it was always you.” John choked. 

 

“Joh-” 

 

“No!” He cut him off. 

 

“You're gonna listen to me.” John said firmly with his military tone.

 

“Your death, it didn't physically kill me. But it damn well felt like it. Do you have any idea what it was like? Seeing my best friend, seeing the man I loved, die in front of me?” Tears fell from John’s eyes. Sherlock's mouth parted slightly in a gasp, tears of his own falling to the floor. 

 

There it was. The word love. Sherlock could do nothing but listen, John deserved to speak uninterrupted. 

 

“Sherlock, I have been to war. I have seen death. But I have never seen anything like what you put me through. I loved you more than I loved life. And I lost you. Mary came along, she did save me. Once. Once to the countless times and ways you have saved me. It was always you, Sherlock. But I couldn't have you. I got a gravestone and more therapy. I got what I thought was a lifetime of regret for not telling you that before. I had that phone in my hand and I said nothing of it.” John stopped, and searched Sherlock's impossibly green eyes. 

 

Sherlock was full on crying now. He cried out of regret and pain, he cried because he couldn't undo what he had done. Partly he cried from relief. It was out now, even if it changed nothing. Though clever, on that he was wrong. It changed everything.

 

“Sherlock. I won't be marrying her.” John said, grabbing hold of Sherlock's hand.

 

With that, he crashed into John, pushing him into his chair and kissing him, little else running through his head. John kissed back with equal force and soft demeanor. Sherlock pulled him up onto his feet and led him to his room, quietly shutting the door behind him


End file.
